Read the piece about Claire's sp power. Please discuss Jamie's "seeing." Love, your blog! Thanks in advance.
I do believe that Jamie has some form of The Sight - as in, in his dreams he can see across time and look in on what his children and grandchildren are doing.
We first get a glimpse of this in Drums of Autumn:
“I did wonder…” Jamie hesitated for a moment. “Has she a birthmark, Sassenach? And if so, did ye tell me of it?”
“She does,” I said slowly, thinking. “I don’t think I ever told you about it, though; it isn’t visible most of the time, so it’s been years since I noticed it, myself. It’s a—”
His hand tightening on my shoulder stopped me.
“It’s a wee brown mark, shaped like a diamond,” he said. “Just behind her left ear. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” It was warm and cozy in bed, but a small coolness on the back of my neck made me shiver suddenly. “Did you see that in your dream?”
“I kissed her there,” he said softly.
And then there’s this scene at the end of A Breath of Snow and Ashes:
“You dreamed about Brianna and the children? What happened?”
…“It is all right,” he said. “They are safe. I saw them in a town—it seemed like Inverness, but it was different, somehow. They walked up the step of a house—Roger Mac was with them,” he added, offhand. “They knocked at the door, and a wee brown-haired woman opened to them. She laughed wi’ joy to see them, and brought them in, and they went down a hallway, wi’ strange things like bowls hanging from the ceiling.
“Then they were in a room, wi’ sofas and chairs, and the room had great windows all down one wall, from the floor to the ceiling, and the afternoon sun was streaming in, setting Brianna’s hair to fire, and makin’ wee Mandy cry when it got in her eyes.”
“Did … did any of them call the brown-haired woman by name?” I asked, my heart beating in a queer, fast way.
He frowned, moonlight making a cross of light over nose and brows.
“Aye, they did,” he said. “I canna just—oh, aye; Roger Mac called her Fiona.”
“Did he?” I said. My hands rested on his shoulder, and my mouth was a hundred times drier than it had been when I woke up. The night was chilly, but not enough to account for the temperature of my hands.
I had told Jamie any amount of things about my own time over the years of our marriage. About trains and planes and automobiles and wars and indoor plumbing. But I was nearly sure that I had never told him what the study looked like in the manse where Roger had grown up with his adoptive father.
The room with the window wall, made to accommodate the Reverend’s painting hobby. The manse with its long hallway, furnished with old-fashioned light fixtures, shaped like hanging bowls. And I knew I had never told him about the Reverend’s last housekeeper, a girl with dark, curly hair, called Fiona.
“Were they happy?” I asked at last, very quietly.
“Aye. Brianna and the lad—they had some shadows to their faces, but I could see they were glad nonetheless. They all sat down to eat—Brianna and her lad close together, leaning on each other—and wee Jem stuffed his face wi’ cakes and cream.” He smiled at the picture, teeth a brief gleam in the darkness.
“Oh—at the last, just before I woke … wee Jem was messin’ about, picking things up and putting them down as he does. There was a … thing . . on the table. I couldna say what it was; I’ve never seen the like.”
He held his hands about six inches apart, frowning at them. “It was maybe this wide, and just a bit longer—something like a box, maybe, only sort of … humped.”
“Humped?” I said, puzzled as to what this could be.
“Aye, and it had a thing on top like a wee club, only wi’ a knob to each end, and the club was tied to the box wi’ a sort of black cord, curled up on itself like a piggie’s tail. Jem saw it, and he reached out his hand, and said, ‘I want to talk to Grandda.’ And then I woke.”
He leaned his head back farther, so as to look up into my face.
“Would ye ken what a thing like that might be, Sassenach? It was like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
The autumn wind came rustling down from the hill, dry leaves hurrying in its wake, quick and light as the footsteps of a ghost, and I felt the hair rise on nape and forearms.
“Yes, I know,” I said. “I’ve told you about them, I know.” I didn’t think, though, that I had ever described one to him, in more than general terms. I cleared my throat.
“It’s called a telephone.”
And then this scene in Echo:
“You‘ve been dreaming of them, haven‘t you?” I said.
…“I saw Jem and the wee lass—” A smile came over his face at that. “God, she‘s a feisty wee baggage! She minds me o‘ you, Sassenach.”
…“What were they doing?”
He rubbed a finger between his brows as though his forehead itched.
“They were outside,” he said slowly. “Jem told her to do something and she kicked him in the shin and ran away from him, so he chased her. I think it was spring.” He smiled, eyes fixed on whatever he‘d seen in his dream. “I mind the wee flowers, caught in her hair, and lying in drifts across the stones.”
“What stones?” I asked sharply.
“Oh. The gravestones,” he answered, readily enough. “That‘s it—they were playing among the stones on the hill behind Lallybroch.”
I sighed happily. This was the third dream that he‘d had, seeing them at Lallybroch. It might be only wishful thinking, but I knew it made him as happy as it made me, to feel that they had made a home there.
…“Right. What was it that bothered you, though?”
He glanced curiously at me.
“How did ye ken I was troubled?”
I looked at him down my nose—or as much down my nose as was possible, given the disparity of height.
“You may not have a glass face, but I have been married to you for thirty-odd years.”
He let the fact that I hadn‘t actually been with him for twenty of those years pass without comment, and only smiled.
“Aye. Well, it wasna anything, really. Only that they went into the broch.”…The small frown was back between his brows.
“The broch,” he repeated, and looked at me, helpless. “I dinna ken what it was. Only that I didna want them to go in. It … felt as though there was something inside. Waiting. And I didna like it at all.”